


For the Honor of Abbadon

by Thom_R_Phan



Category: For Honor (Video Game), Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Minor Violence, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:39:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thom_R_Phan/pseuds/Thom_R_Phan
Summary: An emissary arrives to the Knight World "Honor", acting as emissary to the planets self proclaimed Lady-Governor. A world of farmers and soldier wielding plain swords, offered a single chance by a leader of titans and a million guns, only a fool would not agree to join. Or a truly peerless, lady warrior.





	For the Honor of Abbadon

_ “The Knight World of Honor is one of the longest serving in the Emperor’s name, conquered by a Warmaster whose name has been lost to history. Our oldest families bring knights of steel siege-engines into the void to wage war, while those who stay till the earth with simple horses and plows. _

__

_ “It is common knowledge now that from strength will come power. I have made sure of that fact. This can be interesting to see then, just where that strength lies. For many in these times it is physical, for others it is ideological, and some say that above all of this is the Knights. But they are wrong.” _

The warden watched from the ramparts as the first sky-boat came to ground. Its rider had sent word ahead of his arrival, in a missive tied spear hurled from the sky. Its words clear about intent, and boldly declaring that the boat artillery could reduce the Blackstone Fortress to molten rock before a single volley could be levied against it; and as such the legion had stood down, its commander only counsel to the warden or his peers being a quiet “Interesting”.

He was not alone on these ramparts. Elsewhere Kate stood in grim silence, her only sound being the soft clank of chains that came with each of her slow breaths. Roland stood atop the eastern wall, his poleax catching a ray of light from the sun and turning his position into a beacon. Wat paced restlessly on the northern wall, impatient for battle as he idly juggled his gladius and cursed under his breath. Of the fortresses most elite host, only Jocelyn was absent.

Together the sentinels watched the man exit the sky-boat, and already his appearance marked him as an outside. Little could be seen of his clothing at this distance, but he lacked any signs of malnutrition that was the hallmark of serfdom; his back straight, a solid frame of muscles, and an easy gait as he strode towards them. The commander was right, “Interesting.”

“Raise the Portcullis.” Roland said.

There was something off about the figure. He looked human, his armor foreign. His cloth too flowing, as if he expected weapons to go right through even the thick material. While his armor was thick, it appeared excessively bulky. Not plate or maille, and only found in a single, thick breastplate. His arms remained bare, like a conqueror or one of the Viking kind, and where they may wear tattoos he bore scars. Each scar so thick, ugly, defined that it was clear they were ritual; and symbolic of his legion. This stranger probably though that mattered. But Ashfeld had many legions, most of them dead.

Underneath the Wardens feet, might chains rumbled as a squad of serfs wound the gate up. Just far enough, he noted, for this outsider to enter before dropping behind the lone soul with the tolling sound of strength. One soul led to the heart of the Blackstone Fortress.

 

_ “The Knights themselves are a misnomer. Titans of steel forged long before the birth of any legions or calms, they serve as a constructed war-beast for ancient families who ride in their bellies. From there they march and through the iron-beast’s facade, stare at eye-level with the men on the ramparts of any castle or fortress. Wielding armor and artillery like none others found on this planet, these ancient families view themselves as gods amongst men.” _

“Your world is dying. Meaningless battles send soldiers to their death and for what? I hear tell of a God-Emperor in your oaths, but I see no acts of god on this planet. Not even the vengeful ones. Only the acts of men turned beast by their situation. Your leaders fight for scraps on a planet stripped of resources or compassion. Why?”

The Outsider paced the hall. He had come with the pretense of convincing the Blackstone commander to negotiate, but already he was showing his hand. Diplomatically, the battle was not between two leaders. One a distant lord hiding in the stars with a fleet designed to rule the constellations, the other a supposed tin tyrant on their simple throne trying to rule over the world of endless war. This was a root-based strategy. In a castle of six hundred soldiers, he did not see the value of one commander. A person whose glory was long past the. Perhaps they did not realize who it was that sat on the throne, or just how they recruited hundreds of the greatest warriors.

“My lord has sent me here, not as an avatar of peace, but of purpose. For a thousand years, we have watched your battles. Now we wish to invite you to the long war. For millenniums, my lord and his master have sought to overthrow our own tyrant, whom even in death taxes you to starvation and levees your greatest warriors to battle in the stars rather than protect your own as they are charged. Your people worship that tyrant as a god. While my lord would have you wrest back this power, depose the tyrant and choose your own gods. One’s whose blessings prove their strength. One who wish for you to join them in ruling the stars.”

From his place in the center the outsider spoke well, though shaded by an accent that showed this language was new to him despite his efforts. His only flaw was that he didn’t listen. The helmeted faces were all directed at him, some even nodding as if in agreement, and he thought that a good sign. The soft rustle of chainmail was a background noise in every inch of the fortress and across the plains of Ashfeld. Some learned to block it out, the sheep trying their best to avoid the whites of their own eyes. Champions, wolves, learned to listen. Not needing to turn their heads to see the dark armor striding slowly, with a calm like a tempest brewing on the horizon.

The voice that came from behind that leering iron visage was ever calm, a nurturing and caring teacher. One who would do anything to impart her lesson, first upon a world and now offered the chance to teach even travelers from the stars. “Our greatest warriors have no need of the stars,” Apollyon said.

 

_ “The strategic goal of any war-machines is to redress the battlefield to a commander’s preference. This is what allows warriors to face each other in the conditions of their choosing. Trebuchets and catapults allow for walls to be destroyed. While siege towers bypassed them. Rams take down gates, which make walls a non-issue for the reinforcements. A critical tool, it is nonetheless a fool’s flaw to assume that a war-machines strategic value and strength translates to a juggernaut tactical solution.” _

 

The commander of the Blackstone Legion was one of the tallest women he had ever met. The outsider, to his credit, was taller. Had spent every second since he had entered her territory on active campaign to build himself up in the Blackstone’s eyes. His image, so unique upon this continent made him stand out. As an orator and diplomat of some skill, he likely thought this made him powerful. Yet, even as he stood tall and looked down on his host, it was as if he cowered below Apollyon’s voice gently reaching his ear.

“The greatest warriors are here, on this world.”

She began to pace around the stranger, maintaining a fixed distance. Her sword slung in her hand in that casual manner that only a Warden ever managed. The swords could not be sheathed for their extreme length, nor could they be planted due to their blades. They were just held there with slack grips, giving the illusion of a blade made safe and the ability to behead a person at close distances with a practiced swing.

“To gain such a title, one must constantly work to overcome their own limitations, not seek to hide them behind unnecessary fabrications.”

It almost felt the same in the grand hall, a single speaker holding everyone’s attention to the center of the room with carefully considered words. The difference however was that where the outsider had isolated himself as the center of attention, Apollyon was a part of the pack. Every Blackstone she walked past lost an edge of tenseness that their guest had thrown on them. Loosened muscles like they too were on the prowl.

“When my wolves fight, they fight to survive. Their every action has but a sliver of moment to choose, flee or fight, panic or stay sanguine, and when they live there is more than luck at stake. There is a skill that only comes through survival, and they have learned this. At the plainest level of education imaginable.”

“My lord seeks…”

“Hush. Quiet. Because you still do not understand. You claim to take us to a war with purpose, to fight alongside the greatest warriors in the galaxy, but you do not see. We are not blind to the news from the stars. We know of your great accomplishments, your long war, and we view all this… with pity.”

In an instance the outsider drew the small bow he kept strapped in a sheathe on his belt, an instance to kill the Warlord of the Blackstone Legion and claim for himself one of the mightiest armies on the planet. Just as doubtlessly others would be doing the same with the Iron legion, the Warborn, the Chosen. His mouth was open as his hand moved in a blur, doubtlessly planning to use his oratory to explain the foolishness of her pity.

Instead he screamed.

His wrist broken as the bow stayed sheathed, not even able to clear its confinements. The scream turned quickly to rage, but his attempts to draw the sword at his side found itself hamper by the slice to his wrist. The great-sword she had been clutching so loosely merely swinging in front of her as if in salute without the dignity of a proper draw. He recovered quickly, and the hand still bleeding swung at her head with a controlled fist. Appolyon’s death mask showed no concern, it’s haunting silent leer instead, leaned in. Breaking the outsider’s other wrist against its steel even as she planted him to the stone floor with the tip of her sword.

“Let me finish. Tell your warlord that he should come. If he truly believes he is worthy to lead the people of this world, then he must prove himself here. Not hiding in the stars. Your master needs to learn how these wolves fight, with blades and skill honed in war. How they thrive in a world you called meaningless. We may not conquer the stars, but at least we do not leave our own self un-conquered. So, tell him to come, and learn.”

“When we come,” Through gritted teeth the victim spoke. To his credit he did not cower, and though unstable he still managed to stay standing even as his blood from his wrist and foot. ”You will learn only death.”

“I have molded this world in an image. Here I am War, I am Pestilence, I am Famine. Does your master not know that I am Death?”

 

_ “God are blind to their own follies. In myths and legends this is the catalyst for great journeys. It is seen a humanizing fabrication by the storytellers. But in battle, such blindness will end only in death. The Knights, those gods of war, are just as filled with follies. When they march, they see the earth tremble and assume that this is strength.” _

__

Letting the herald leave with all the dignity available. The only statement of strength was as Appolyon turned her back to the outsider as she addressed the rest. “Blackstones, send riders to the Warborn and the Chosen. Let them know our answer to these outsiders.”

“Commander, we campaign against them as we speak.” The warden joined her inside the circle.

“Then the riders will have easier travels, Thatcher, I would seek counsel with the other lords of our planet.”

Thatcher the warden nodded his head, but didn’t step back. The third kill mark on his handle fresh and bright from his duel this past spring. Roland, a Lawbringer with little competition, joined the inner circle as he spoke up. “Where shall we host this meeting, they won’t agree to come here.”

“We will ask the Chosen to host. This will be a war for the planet, it is fitting we meet at the throne of the once planet-governor.”

“They won’t be happy about that.” Wash stepped forward, still idly flipping his gladius about with the restless, arrogant violence he exuded.

“We will need to show some form of goodwill.” Kate’s flail hooked over her shoulder, as if couldn’t simply swing forward in a death blow. “Some food and steel maybe. Makes it clear we aren’t planning to start a siege.”

Roland was silent as he joined the inner circle, and for a moment seemed like his oath of combat would be just as silent, until he re-seated his helmet and said “God-emperor love you chief, and so do I.”

“My wolves, it seems then we go to war against the stars themselves this time. This should be fun.”

 

_ “And so I kill them. If these knights may play God, then I shall tear them down lest the halt the development of my wolves.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact, Apollyon and Abaddon are the hebrew and greek words which generally translate to destroyer. Apollyon is a fascinating character because she expresses the charisma and power that most writers wish to have. The original goal was to use her to deconstruct Abaddon and his memes, then reconstruct him again in the forges of Honor's fire, as his character is less flawed than the memes suggest.   
> The other characters were named after Knight's Tale because it's an excellent movie, and also as Apollyon is a very difficult character to write so they would be a easier POV. It also established early on why the Blackstones believe they can fight the Lost and Damned Legions, considering they fairly regularly go mano-y-mano with imperial knights (It is possible, the Ion shield is not omni-directional and they are killing pilots not the full machine).
> 
> Unfortunately, I've been rather busy, so this has been gathering dust and the only way this would get off the ground is a spurt of really good inspiration. Feel free to try and suggest where I go next, since frankly that the best way of seeing this go anywhere (aside from binge playing for a couple days. yeah, right).


End file.
